Chapter 2…

As I slowly opened my eyes, I knew that it was too good to be true. Of course it was. Weren't all dreams like that? Sure enough, in front of me was the pale blue paint of my bedroom, paint peeling and cracking. I turned my head, and saw in the bed next to me the slowly breathing figure of Lucy, another of the older girls who shared a room with me at the orphanage.

I sighed, and sat up to look at the clock. Ten-thirty. Typical. I zonk out before I can get any of my homework done. Why was this becoming the norm?

I fell back to the bed, absently staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars glued to the ceiling, revisiting the dream. Yeah, we had been fighting for a couple of weeks, but it was doubtful that it would have a fairy-tale-ish ending like that, however nice that would be. But, Kyle had offered to take me to prom, but that was two weeks away, and there was no way that was going to happen if we were sill arguing.

And what about that kiss? There was no way it could feel so real and still be a dream. I could still feel the phantom tingle of his lips on mine. There was no way.

No way…

Anyhoo, the weirdest part of the dream was that I actually liked it, not to mention that I kissed him back. It didn't make sense.

I began to think about what it was we were fighting about. He had been acting so… strange lately. The brooding, the secrecy… we never kept secrets from each other. It was so weird. I tried to ask him about it, and that was how the whole thing started…

"Hey, Kyle… can I talk to you?" I asked. It was Friday, and snow was falling heavily, blanketing everything. We were trudging home, back to Holloway's orphanage.

"Sure… what about?" he answered, strangely wary.

"I just wanted to know if you wanted to, like, catch a movie or something later on. You know, hang out." I said.

"Sorry, Sarabear, I have a ton of homework," he answered. He was lying. We had the same classes, and we had no homework whatsoever.

"You sure? I could help you with it, if we had any." I hinted, forcing him to tell the truth.

"Yeah…"

"What, were you not listening or something in class? Kyle, we don't have any homework! So, why can't you go?" I asked, growing frustrated.

"I… uh… have a… a thing. I have a thing," he replied.

"What? Football? It's snowing Kyle, in case you haven't noticed. How can you play football in this?" I snapped, gesturing around us.

"Yeah… uh… no… listen, can we talk about this later? I need to get going."

"To what?"

"A thing!"

"What thing?"

"Can't you see that I don't want to talk about it? Can't you just leave my alone for once?" he snapped. The words stung, and I stopped. Kyle plowed ahead. I ran to catch up.

"Kyle… I'm your friend. Why can't you tell me? Please?" I pleaded softly, trying to make amends.

"No! Just leave me alone, Sara! I'm allowed to have secrets, aren't I?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"But nothing! Just leave me alone!"

His cruel words brought tears to my eyes. "What is wrong with you?" I yelled. "You used to be… a good friend. Now, I… I… I don't know you anymore!" I stopped, catching my breath. I glared at him, exasperated. "Next time you feel like talking to someone, or actually interacting with people," I said slowly, looking at him with a level gaze. "Find someone else. I am sick of this crap, Kyle, sick. You have been doing this for weeks! Are you listening to me, Kyle? I am through, you hear me? Through with your crap. I have had it. When you actually feel like talking to me, or want to actually be a friend, you know where to find me." I turned, and walked away.

"Sara… Sara WAIT!" He yelled. I kept walking, forcing myself to look ahead. He ran to catch up, and grabbed my shoulder. "If I told you, you… you wouldn't understand." He murmured. "Sara… I'm… I'm really sorry."

"Mmm-hmm, Riiight. Listen, I'll just ask Lucy or someone else to go. They would do so gladly. Go do your thing. Don't worry about me, I can do just frickin' fine without you. So, get off of me. More accurately, go away." I said bitterly, sarcasm dripping from my speech. Kyle reluctantly slid his hand off of my shoulder, but instead of leaving, he held onto my hand.

"Sara…" he started, his face full of remorse and pleading for forgiveness.

For a moment, I actually considered forgiving him. That was until I remembered the last few lonely weeks when he had ditched me for his "thing". Time to give him a taste of his own medicine, I thought. "I'm outta here." I muttered, pulling away and stomping off.

The last thing I could remember of that dream was the look on his face. It was a hollow, haunted look, mixed with the expression of someone being stung. It was a familiar face, as he had made that exact face on the afternoon of the actual argument.